


The Third Night

by mnemosyne23



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance, married, post-Horse and His Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne23/pseuds/mnemosyne23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aravis made Cor promise that she would be the first of them to die. He is about to break that promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Night

**Author's Note:**

> A story about my favorite characters in my favorite book in one of my favorite fantastical universes of all time. ^_^
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

The evening breeze smelled of autumn apples from the orchard beyond the wall, but Aravis, Queen of Archenland, paid no heed to the fragrance. She had seated herself on a stone bench, one of many that circled the courtyard garden, and gazed silently at the flowered trellis that climbed the stone wall to the height of the castle battlements. Roses in every shade of red -- from crimson to coral pink -- added their own heady aroma to the perfumed air. Yet the queen could not enjoy the beauty of her surroundings; her thoughts were on darker matters.

The king, her husband, was dying.

It was foolish, really; not worthy of a king. He had been felled during a hunting party when an arrow went astray, the victim of a random ricochet. Aravis had not been with them at the time; best for all she had not, for had she been there, no man on earth could have controlled her furious rage. As it was, when they bore him back to the castle on a litter and she saw the morbid pallor of his skin, she had nearly fallen to her knees from fear that he was already dead. But she was too strong for that; she had held onto her composure until they'd closed the door on the surgery; then she'd flung herself into her brother-in-law's arms and wept and wept and wept.

That had been three days ago; three days of endless worry and doubt. Would he open his eyes tomorrow? Would he still be breathing come morning? Three days, the surgeons had told her; if he outlasts the night on that third day, he will live.

The moon was high in the sky on this, the third night, and she had taken herself to the castle garden to escape the demons in their bedroom. By rights she should be at his side, holding his hand, breathing his air; but she could not stand that stuffy room and breathless atmosphere; could not bear to look at his white face and feel his feverish hand. She had come to the garden to be surrounded by color, but found only red roses turned black and silver by the washed-out silver moonlight. Taking a seat on her stone bench, she'd turned her back to the garden at large and now gazed at the trellis, remembering how Cor had climbed it when they were younger and she had been petulant and demanded he pluck her a rose from the very top. He'd done it, the fool, and she'd let him; those were the days when they had not troubled themselves with mortality.

A soft step behind her drew her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Corin framed in the hedge gate beyond the fountain which dominated the center of the courtyard. He looked rumpled and the worse for wear, dark circles evident under his eyes even from this distance. The moonlight made him seem a ghost. "Aravis," he said in a soft voice made hoarse by tears.

She closed her eyes and turned away again. "You have come to tell me he's dead," she murmured, unconsciously tightening her arms around her own body. "My husband, your brother, is dead."

He didn't answer but she didn't need him to. Suddenly she smelled the apples on the air, the overpowering scent of roses, and found she hated the combination. What right had they to smell so strongly, to pulse so full of life and vitality? Had they no respect for death? Didn't they know that winter was coming? The chill down her spine was enough to make her believe it was already here.

"Ram will need to be told," she said softly, listening to the pattering of the fountain behind her. "I won't wake him; he is too young to understand. Too young…"

Suddenly there were tears behind her lashes and a sick ball of rage in her throat. Her eyes flew open and she glared at the healthy roses with loathing. With a cry of anguished fury, she reached forward and wrapped her hands around the climbing vines, not caring that the thorns tore her palms. Ripping and pulling, she wrenched off the blossoms within her reach, dropping them to the ground and crushing them beneath her satin slippers. It felt good to feel the lush petals as they ground into the dirt.

"Aravis!" Corin called in alarm.

"It was to be _me_ first!" she cried, leaping to her feet to ruin more blossoms. " _ME!_ I made him swear it! Made him swear it by Aslan that I should be the first to die, years and years hence, when we'd both gone white and doddery with age. Curse him! Curse him for a fool and a liar and a traitor to me!"

She collapsed back to the bench, buried her face in her bloodied hands and wept. It was not in her nature to weep; only once before had she had call for tears since coming to Archenland, and that had been at the funeral of good King Lune. But now she threw her caution aside and wept rivers for the second time in a week, pouring her grief into her hands and reveling in the sting of salt water on her wounded palms.

A warm hand on her back checked her tears a slim margin, but did not make them stop. "Aravis," Corin murmured, sitting carefully beside her and rubbing her back. "Don't cry, Aravis…"

"I was stronger than him," she whispered hoarsely into her hands. "At times I was braver. And I've always been better at grammar." That made Corin laugh, though Aravis felt nothing from her own attempt at humor. "But he knew how to be alone. I grew almost to adulthood in a palace full of servants; I was rarely on my own. Solitude scared me; if not for Hwin, I should have killed myself rather than married the Grand Vizier, because I could not bear to run away alone.

"I made him swear it, Corin; made him swear on our wedding night that he would let me die first. _Swear by Aslan that you will outlast me, Cor._ Those were the words I said to him. _Swear you will not leave me alone._ And he swore -- he promised me. He promised me! And now he has broken his promise, and he has _never_ broken a promise before!" A fresh wave of sobs forced their way up her throat. "And now, never again!"

Aravis leaned on her brother-in-law's muscular shoulder and felt him wrap comforting arms around her shaking form. "Shhh, Aravis," he murmured near her ear, in a voice so like Cor's that she felt her heart break anew. "You made him swear by Aslan, but his vow was something different. He swore that he would never leave you; that's not the same as dying last. It's nothing to do with dying at all. It's about living after death, Aravis; my beautiful tarkeena. And I will never break that promise; never while I live or die."

Aravis raised her tear-streaked face from his shoulder and stared, open-mouthed, into his eyes. "C… Cor?" she stammered in disbelief.

He gave her a soft smile. "Hello."

And now she saw it; the paleness of his skin had little to do with the moonlight, and the rasp in his voice was from weariness and frailty, not tears. "But… How… The doctors… They said you were so weak…!"

He laughed quietly as she ran her hands over his face, down his arms, driven to frenzy by the shocking pleasure of his presence. "I'm King Cor of Archenland," he said with a teasing smile. "He who crossed the desert with two horses and a girl. He who rushed a lion to save a princess. He who fought somewhat bravely in the battle against Rabadash the Ridiculous and found himself made crown prince. Did you really think a stray arrow was going to kill me?"

Aravis didn't know whether to laugh or cry or beat him senseless for scaring her so badly. "Why didn't you tell me it was you!" she demanded, settling for something that was a mix of all three.

"Had you let me get a word in edgewise, I would have done."

"Ooh!" She slapped his arm, then did it again when he laughed at her anger. "You let me cry and wail and make a fool of myself for no reason, _King_ Cor of Archenland! How dare you! How _DARE_ you!"

"Aravis, stop that," he said, eyes sparkling with laughter as he caught her wrists before she could abuse him further. Bringing them to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of each hand. "I wouldn't say it was for no reason. There are times I wonder if you really love me, or if I'm just a useful plaything. It's nice to know you care."

Aravis felt her face soften, and she spread her hands like a lotus blossom to cradle his face. "How can you wonder that, Cor?" she asked quietly, an affectionate smile touching her lips. "Of course I love you. My husband. My Shasta." He smiled at his old moniker, now a pet name between them. Aravis felt her own smile grow wider.

"My tarkeena," he murmured, kissing her thumb.

She leaned forward to nuzzle his nose. "My beggar brat," she cooed.

Cor leaned his forehead against hers with a sigh, and she realized with a start that he was absolutely spent. _Curse you for a fool, Aravis Tarkeena_ , she berated herself. "I will call for a litter," she said softly, wrapping her arms around him to hold him upright. "They will carry you back to your bed."

"Aravis," he complained wearily, resting his fair head on her shoulder. "I can walk on my own."

"Not in this state. I will not allow it."

"I made it here, didn't I?"

"Yes, and that was a foolish, stupid, asinine thing to do. I should not be surprised, of course, as you seem to excel at such behavior."

"I'll never hear the end of it from Corin if I'm carried back to my room on a _litter_."

"You would rather he tease you for life about being carried to your room by your wife? You are not so much bigger than me, Cor, that I cannot do it. I have practice from lifting our son."

"You wouldn't."

"Test me."

He sighed again, but this time in defeat. "Why is it you seem to win every fight, Aravis?" he asked.

"I was bred for courtly intrigue, my king," she said, unable to resist a smile. "You were not. It was never evenly matched." Rubbing his back, she kissed the top of his head. They had known each other over ten years and had been married for six of those, yet still at times he seemed the boy she'd met by the sea on the road to Tashbaan.

"I won't leave you, Aravis," he murmured sleepily; a healthy kind of sleepiness, not the bone-numbing exhaustion of near-death. "And you're never alone. Everybody loves you. I love you."

"I love you, too, my Shasta," she soothed against his temple, rocking him gently as she would their son; Ram, who slept peacefully in his bed two stories up and looked so much like his father it made her heart ache. "And now, you know it for true."

**THE END**


End file.
